blueshit | Inbox for Reparacija

Yeah.

[ Jesse grins at him, sudden and wide and genuine. Yeah. Good. Carver's tugging insistently at his yoga pants and he moves to shimmy gracelessly out of them, kicking them off into a crumpled heap on the floor.

He's got boxer briefs underneath - he'd die before going the Mr. White route and running around in tighty whities - and he's half hard, straining against the fabric, as he turns to Carver to coax his down and off too, joining Jesse's on the floor. It's good, it's going good. Carver's saying yes, he's not freaking out or punching Jesse's lights out for having the balls to touch him, but even so, Jesse hesitates, watching him carefully. They're here to achieve a goal, after all. And he doesn't want to think about how pissed Carver might be if they fail on a technicality. ]

Hey...

[ He speaks softly, almost gently, eyes flicking up to meet Carver's as he strokes a hand down his side. ]

You wanna smoke another before we get started? Huh?

[ Earlier, Carver had prepared to treat this like a job. Something to be survived, and then forgotten afterward. He needs credits and if this is about as close to literal prostitution as anyone could get, fine. That's just how it goes.

It shifted, though. Didn't it? Somewhere in the middle. Now, they're just -

Here.

Carver twitches a little, stilling when Jesse does. His hands settling on Jesse's hips. There's a moment where he tenses - just for a moment - wondering if maybe it's a trick, that this is the point where things shift and it all gets fucked up. Always does, eventually. Right?

Or maybe that's just him, twisting it up. This is why no one likes him at parties, he thinks absently, and exhales slow. ]

Sure. Why the fuck not.

Awesome.

[ It can only help, right? As long as they don't get carried away. But he wants Carver relaxed, wants him to maybe even have a good time, if that's possible. He flashes Carver another grin, then eases away and off the bed to go over to where the weed and rolling papers are still sitting. Jesse's still feeling the effects of his first hit, just the faintest high. Just enough to make him nice and chill, easy as he rolls joints for him and Carver both. He's still half-hard in his boxer briefs, and he reaches his left hand down absently, giving himself a squeeze just for a little relief as he scoops up the joints and lighter with his right.

Then he's back on the bed next to Carver, passing him a joint and then offering him a light. As soon as they've both lit up and he's tossed the lighter aside, though, he's shifting closer again, draping his thighs over Carver's lap. It's maybe a little forward for this moment, not something he'd usually do, but he doesn't want them to lose momentum. Not when Carver seems to have such a hard time letting himself go and getting started in the first place. ]

[ The anxious feeling twists through him, settling in his throat, but Carver holds still. He digs his nails into his knees and straightens his back, watching Jesse. Always watching. You have to pay attention to people, keep track of them, or that'll be the moment you get stabbed or worse. So far, no one's tried to kill him in this place - not even Dixon, which is somehow the most offensive part - but Carver knows it's only a matter of time. And he cannot die stupid. Not until he does what he promised Shaw and all the others.

Not yet.

But Jesse comes back before that thought can really spiral and just climbs into Carver's lap and okay, sure. That's happening. He keeps a hand on Jesse's hip because it feels like the most normal thing he can do in this scenario, and he takes a long drag because maybe, maybe that will finally slow his brain down long enough to stop him from acting like a crazy person in front of Jesse. Or at least get them both high enough that it won't matter. It's fine.

It's fine. ]

[ Yeah. This is good. Jesse smiles when Carver settles a hand back on his hip, snuggling a little closer and getting nice and comfortable before taking a drag of his own. He holds it and breathes it out slow, feeling the remaining tension start to drain out of him.

Hopefully it works the same way for Carver. Jesse settles his free hand on his chest, stroking down slowly and flicking his eyes up to meet his. He tilts his head up, too. Not stretching his face up to close the distance between them, not quite. But offering. If Carver wants it. ]

It's good, right?

[ They just hold like that for a while, smoking like teenagers. His mother gave him hell the one time she caught him in high school; his grandma, on the other hand, hadn’t cared at all. Funny, what you think of and when. And all the while, Jesse stays, watching. Running his free hand over Carver’s chest, catching on old scars, and Carver lets him.

He squeezes Jesse’s hip. It’s not much of an answer, but trying to voice one feels too complicated. Maybe the weed hasn’t really kicked in yet. ]

Why’d you say yes?

[ It's not the first time he'd asked that, or something like it, Jesse thinks. But he pauses anyway, considering the question seriously like it's the first time.

And this time, he doesn't brush it off with a flippant non-answer. He's not sure if it's the weed or just sitting like this, pressed close in Carver's lap, the memory of that kiss still lingering, but he finds himself wanting to be honest now. More so than he normally would be. ]

Cause I like you.

[ He flicks his gaze up to Carver's face, blue eyes wide and sincere. ]

And I want you to like me too.

[ Why, Carver wants to ask, to press and press until he gets an answer that makes sense. Finds the angle that Jesse's working because there has to be an angle, a trick, something. There always is and Pope wouldn't want him to rest until he finds it, until he knows how to use it to his own advantage. It's reflexive at this point. It goes all the way down to the marrow.

Because I like you, Jesse says, and he just looks at Carver when he says it. No hesitation, no hint of anything but exactly what he says.

Carver takes another drag, watching him. One hand on Jesse's hip, drawing absent circles with his thumb. ]

I like you. Sometimes.

[ Sometimes. ]

Sometimes.

[ Jesse scoffs, rolling his eyes, but he's grinning, too. Sometimes isn't that bad, really. Not when it comes to Carver.

Holding his still-lit joint carefully to the side, he shifts a little, picking himself up so that instead of sitting with his legs stretched across Carver's lap, he's facing him, straddling him. He takes a moment just to study him, up close like that, one hand sliding up Carver's chest and over his shoulder to cup the back of his neck, fingers toying gently with the hair close to the bottom of his scalp. ]

Does sometimes include now?

[ It’s telegraphed, more or less. Jesse isn’t trying to jump him, pull a blade—Carver’s buzzed, more than before, but he’s not so far gone he wouldn’t see that shit coming. Jesse’s just doing what he’s doing, moving in closer, settling in, and Carver lets him. He drags his fingers along the line of Jesse’s hip and then up over his ribs. Just to do it, just because—maybe—he wants to. And then Jesse cups the back of his neck, and it just—

Carver closes his eyes, almost without thinking about it, and bows his head. ]

These things happen, [ he says, very softly. ] I’m here, aren’t I?

Yeah.

[ Jesse responds just as softly, blue eyes bright, watching Carver as he bows his head. He's here. He'd asked for this, and he hasn't said no yet.

He takes another long drag on his joint, then leans over to stub it out and drop it on the nearest piece of furniture - sorry, Carver. Then, with both hands free, he reaches for Carver again, cupping his neck with both hands only to slide them around under his jaw and urge him to raise his face for another kiss. He rolls his hips at the same time, grinding slow - for now - against Carver through his boxer briefs and hissing quietly against his mouth. ]

Fuck...

[ Normally, Carver would snap at Jesse for just leaving a joint on his furniture - for making a mess - but Jesse's touching him, hands on his neck and tipping his head back, rocking against him, and it just -

Things shift, a little. Carver bites off a groan and knocks their foreheads together, setting his own joint aside because fuck.

Fuck. It feels easier now, somehow. ]

Do that again.

[ That's not a request, it's an order. Jesse grins in delight. If Carver's into this enough to be demanding more...yeah, that sounds like a victory to him.

He rolls his hips again, still slow and deliberate, bracing himself with his hands on Carver's shoulders. ]

Like - ughhh - like that?

Fuck—

[ Yeah. Okay. That works. Carver arches into it, dragging his hands up Jesse’s sides and then back down to his hips. Not hard enough to bruise, but enough to feel. He likes Jesse’s hands on his shoulders, bracing, something real.

Somehow, it’s easier to focus this time. To avoid getting tangled up on his own racing thoughts.

He hooks a hand around Jesse’s neck and pulls him in for a kiss. Harder, this time. Maybe that’s the trick, not hesitating so much. Just going for it. ]

Like that, [ he agrees. ]

Okay.

[ Like that. He can do that. Jesse smiles softly, briefly, then crushes his lips against Carver's again, kissing him hard and messy as he rocks his hips a little harder, a little more insistently. Shit. He shudders, his fingers curling, nails digging into Carver's shoulders. ]

You want - ghh - you wanna keep going like this?

[ He's breathing harder now, his skin a little flushed. He could keep going like this till he creams right in his shorts. No problem. And that would be fine. Maybe good, even, so long as Carver keeps kissing him, dragging his hands over Jesse's skin, looking at him like he can't quite believe what he's seeing. But he wants to give Carver the choice. Just in case he wants more. ]

[ It's tempting just to say yes, fuck it, keep doing that but do it more. It feels good and not many things do, and Carver's head has finally chilled the fuck out enough for him to settle, enough that he wants this. Not even as a means to an end but just a thing they're doing.

Why not?

Why the fuck not?

Carver slots a thumb against Jesse's pulse, feeling it jump. And then he puts a hand on Jesse's hip, smoothing over his pants. ]

Take these off.

[ He doesn't have a plan. Not really. This is just happening. ]

[ Yeah. Yeah, he can do that. Jesse jumps to obey immediately, like the best little soldier Carver could ask for. To be fair, it is slightly graceless and awkward. He has to get off Carver's lap in order to do it, and he slides off to the side in a little bit of a heap, scrambling to push off his boxers and kick them carelessly onto the floor. His dick pops up like a jack-in-the-box the minute he shoves the waistband of his boxers down over it - if he hadn't been fully hard before, the commanding tone of Carver's voice and the way he'd pressed a thumb against his pulse point had pushed him firmly over the edge.

He doesn't climb back up on top of him right away, though. Instead, he just turns a little to face Carver, one hand drifting down to pluck at the waistband of his own pants. ]

You too.

[ He flicks his eyes up to meet Carver's, and grins. ]

Fair's fair, right?

[ Yeah. That's a look, isn't it? Carver tips his head back, taking it all in. The way Jesse moves, how his dick springs up. No mistaking that. Carver wants to make him whimper. Isn't that a hell of a thing?

He reaches out, cupping a hand to the back of Jesse's neck and squeezing faintly. ]

Tell me how you want it. And I will.

[ Jesse swallows faintly when he feels Carver's hand on the back of his neck. He doesn't look eager, like Jesse feels - no ripping clothes off, no kisses desperate enough to bruise. But there's an intensity in his gaze, a careful deliberation of his movements, that makes Jesse feel even more naked than he is. Like Carver can see not only him, but exactly what's going on in his head.

He bites his lower lip, thinking, blue eyes fixed on Carver's dark ones. Then he dips the tips of his fingers briefly beneath the waistband of Carver's pants, only to slide his hand back up again, sliding it up Carver's ribcage and then pulling it away, so they're not touching at all. ]

Take 'em off slow.

Like you're showing off.

[ Whatever this is, it feels simpler now. When there's enough weed in the mix to take the edge off. Cut away the tension. Carver knows what he is, what he does. He's not good with strangers anymore. Can't trust them and doesn't want to, and his brothers and sisters don't touch much to start with so that means he doesn't touch people much. You can fall out of practice with a thing like that. But Jesse hasn't, is the thing. There's something so goddam sincere in the look he's giving Carver. The way he drags his fingers and then pulls back.

Carver huffs out a breath. Centering himself. He doesn't say anything for a moment. Slow. Like you're showing off.

Okay.

He tips his head to one side, then the other. Always, always watching Jesse. But then he reaches for his own shirt, lifting it slow. Baring his stomach, and the scars there. He takes his time. It feels clumsy, maybe. But he watches Jesse with the same sort of intensity and that -

That makes it okay, he thinks. ]

[ He hadn't known if Carver would go for it. Yeah, he'd asked...or rather, told Jesse to tell him what he wanted. But that's one thing, and actually obeying when Jesse basically tells him to do a striptease is something else entirely.

He does it, though. He doesn't say a word, just considers it for a moment before he starts peeling off his shirt, an inch at a time. Jesse normally isn't into slow - why wait to get to the good stuff? - but Carver keeps his eyes on him, locked the whole time, and Jesse finds his breath catching, his heart hammering in his chest. He'd been hard before, but now it's almost painful. Fuck. He doesn't even know what he wants, exactly, just that he wants it bad. ]

Yeah.

[ It comes out raspy. He doesn't know what he's saying. But Carver's still looking at him, silent and obeying. Jesse jerks his head in a nod, trying to get ahold of himself, to keep his cool. ]

Like that.

[ He reaches a hand out, just as slow, flicking his eyes back up to Carver's in a silent bid for approval before he makes contact, his fingertips brushing ever so lightly against his scars, tracing the paths they make over Carver's stomach. ]

[ It's not like Carver doesn't know what he looks like. He's strong and he's been eating good here, so he's fit. He's got his mom's thick hair and he's been lucky, hasn't taken any scars to the face. When he wants to, he can move like he's putting on a show. Control the momentum. Turn it how he wants. But people don't usually look at him like this. There's no fear in Jesse's eyes, no hate, none of that twisting energy that comes during a brutal fight.

He tips his head back, flexing his stomach as Jesse touches him. Tracing out scars.

It tickles, a little. But it feels good. Like something electric.

He shrugs his shirt off. Lets it fall. His eyes never leave Jesse's. ]

[ Shit. Jesse's not used to giving orders, much less having them obeyed, but the way Carver wordlessly watches him as he pulls his shirt off and reveals himself has him flushing with need and a heady, unexpected feeling of power. Carver looks at him like he's the only other person in the world, like nothing else exists, and Jesse can't decide whether it's terrifying or exhilarating.

He gets a little braver, sliding his hand up to Carver's chest, mapping out the ridges of his ribs and muscles under his fingers. ]

Pants too.

Take 'em off.

[ Like before, Carver allows it. Lets Jesse trail his fingers along his edges, trace out the shape of what he finds. Skin and scars and for a moment it's almost too close. There's supposed to be distance. Anyone who gets close is a threat and if you let them, you deserve what's done to you.

It's always Pope's voice he hears. Ringing true.

Carver twitches a little, catching Jesse's wrist. But he doesn't jerk away, or shove Jesse back. Just holds it, watching Jesse intently, and then reaches for his belt. Letting it click as he undoes it. ]

[ Oops. Too far? Jesse stills when Carver catches his wrist, curling his fingers in and away from Carver's skin. He doesn't pull back, though. It's only when Carver lets go of him to undo his belt that he withdraws his hand, settling it almost subconsciously on his own neglected cock. ]

Yeah.

[ Again, he says it softly, eyes traveling down to Carver's belt and then back up to meet his eyes as he gives himself a slow stroke. ]

All the way off.

I wanna see how hard you are.

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